Category Archives: daily tmi

we’ve all been bitten by the odd bug or so, we all learn to live with this minor irritation.

jk, i dunno about you guys, but i scratch every bite till it bleeds. yeah i know, scars blablabla. dont. care. absolutely do not care. its worth it.

anyway, with this less than tolerant attitude towards mosquitoes, i’m sure you can fathom how certain more tropical climates might not entirely agree with me all the time. to clarify, i’m not sure how the rest of the world is, but mosquitoes in switzerland are mostly harmless (as harmless as evil bloodsucking parasites can be), whereas the ones in the US, as an example, are horrifying. if you don’t believe me: my brother once saw a mosquito land on his leg in the US, and he slapped it, and the mosquito not only survived but proceeded to bite him anyway. it then flew away unscathed. a goddamn survivor.

suddenly the word mosquito reminds me of mojito, but obviously if mosquitoes were mojitos the world would be a very different place. *whistful sigh*

and considering all this, i just want to say that my recent trip to portugal with my boyfriend was lovely – beautiful beach, sunsets, the works – except for one tiny detail. the mosquitoes. now you may think i’m exaggerating, but let me tell the story:

portugal, as some of you may already know, is a rather warm country. very warm, in fact. so there we are, bf and i, trying to get a good nights sleep. sweating. gasping for breath, trying to suck in the humid air. totally survivable, tbh. i actually slept rly well. we spent a few nights in these conditions, it was alright.

but then, tragedy struck. we got too confident. and we *audience has baited breath* decided to sleep with the window open. let in the fresh cool air. let a nice breeze caress our skin. it was tempting, and we were weak.

the first night like this was quite alright. we got a few bites, as expected, but it was nothing we couldn’t deal with. our plan had been a success.

“lets continue on this path”, we thought, “this seems totally livable”, we thought.

…

……

………

we were wrong.

the second night was worse, and we woke up covered in bites. the annoyance really had become too strong at this point, and we decided – like any smart person would (honestly i don’t think you even have to be smart for that) – to shut the window from now on.

and wE FORGOT.

tuckered out from an exhausting day at the beach, we crashed in the bed and fell right asleep. believe me when i say that the next morning i woke up because of my itching body. because of it.

cursing and feeling stupid, we slammed the window shut and thought this would be the end of our suffering.

again, we were wrong. (i’m almost tearing up thinking about how wrong we were.)

you see, apparently our bedroom was a very attractive bedroom to the mosquitoes, and the mosquitoes, seizing the opportunity we had foolishly provided, had migrated into the bedroom. colonized the bedroom. they probably had tiny flags and celebrations and everything. not to mention further populating their new home.

and in the evening, of course, in we walked, a giant feast for everyone, with our inviting plumpness, pulsating veins, enticing body warmth (i know this description may be disturbing, but i’m trying to write in the mosquitoes’ point of view).

we literally watched them sitting on the ceiling, doing exactly this.

the feast tried to sleep, but it was a restless sleep. every ten seconds another mosquito would help itself to our deliciousness, every time a little bit of sleep and a little bit of patience was drained from our bodies along with the blood.

we woke up miserable, desperate, hoping that the next night would be bearable. it wasn’t.

the mosquitoes were relentless! untiring!

nearing insanity, my bf and i started swatting the air at every hint of a bug, but to no avail.

eventually i was starting to feel like one huge mosquito bite, and at last, when i could take it no longer, i let out a cry of utter despair, kicking and hitting the mattress, got up, grabbed my pillow and duvet, and announced that i would be sleeping on the couch in the living room. bf followed suit.

at about 5 in the morning, we finally fell sleep. grateful, peaceful sleep.

the next day we investigated the situation, and were forced to acknowledge that the bedroom had, in fact, become more mosquito-invested than the actual OUTSIDE.

Not only that, we also found a GIANT COCKROACH in one of the clothing drawers (even the thought is making me shudder – and i, mercifully, will not include a picture). A GIANT FU**ING COCKROACH. A MONSTER. A DRAGON. IT COULD EVEN FLY. I WOULD GLADLY HAVE PROVIDED THE FIRE EXCEPT I FIGURED IT WOULDNT BE SMART TO BURN DOWN THE HOUSE. to be honest, the cockroach deserves its own story, because the effort we had to go through to get rid of it was just. oh god. just trying to forget. #scarredforlife #worsethanmosquitobitescars #wayf*ckingworse

We slept on the couches for the rest of our stay.

And actually, we continued to thoroughly enjoy the trip, however, we were from then on plagued by nervous, slightly crazy ticks every time we thought something other than air had touched us (and i’m sure anyone with long hair can sympathize with my situation on that one), and did have at least one conversation about how to create optimal mosquito-torture devices (we did think about the ethical issues regarding such ideas, however, we also decided we no longer give a flying eff about mosquito rights. those motherfudgers can die excruciating deaths for all i care, because i dont).

The moral of the story, basically, is that i hate mosquitoes.

But everythin’s just dandy now :D and i can also highly recommend portuguese food.

Ever since I can remember, my relationship with wolves has been a tedious one. Unbalanced, to say the least. To be perfectly honest, I sometimes feel a little attacked. ‘Why?’, you ask. I suppose I’d have to say that’s because they have frequently attacked me.

Don’t worry, I haven’t actually been mauled by wild beasts and I don’t have a shredded, scarred face (still as gorgeous as ever) – but once you hear the persecution I have had to endure during my oh so short life-time, I’m sure you will agree that we’re talking about some true childhood trauma.

You see, it all started when I was maybe six or seven, and my dad would read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” to my brother and me. ‘Broaden their minds’, he probably thought, ‘open their eyes to entirely different, new worlds, boost their creativity.’ Innocent enough, it would seem.

the dreams and images our supportive young father probably meant to show us (but oh, the painful reality)

But do any of you remember that one, terrifying scene? The one that changed my life FOREVER?

That’s right. Maugrim the wolf.

I’m not even joking when I say that this picture still haunts me.

As Maugrim was described, from cowardly, simpering Edmund’s point of view (who is, by the by, also the reason I have a strong aversion to all names beginning in “Ed” – maybe I should look into these Narnia issues), I remember how he came to life in my mind, not knowing that this image would never, ever leave.

It started out harmlessly enough. My midnight trips to the bathroom now became terrifying leaps across the hallway, attempting not to be eaten by the wolf that – I was convinced – was guarding the doors. Probably a healthy enough fear of the unknown, or the dark, or whatever.

However, then the nightmares came.

Family members being devoured, being pursued by wolves at the supermarket, being chased by wolves while my legs hopelessly malfunctioned.

And it gets better.

We used to babysit this adorable, fluffy little dog named Spike. We all loved Spike. Spike loved us. (R.I.P. Spike. <3)

this isn’t him, but he looked pretty similar.

Well, imagine my shock and horror when Spike showed up in my dreams with rabies, started eating his own thighs, and then proceeded to bite my mother, so she had rabies too and started attacking all of us.

I mean what. the. actual. fudge.

Or how about the time this cartoon wolf turned up on our balcony: He had a bright red nose – a bit a la Rudolph – and he was trying to eat us, and my mom managed to whack his nose off his face with a spatula, and he just took a new nose out of his pocket and said “hahahaaa new nose!” and fixed it on his face and we were left helpless, about to be murdered.

Now, don’t say I haven’t tried to free myself from this situation. For years, I insisted that wolves were my favorite animals, in a desperate attempt to pacify whichever evil wolf spirits were determined to ruin my sleep night after night.

It didn’t work (just to be clear, tigers are my favorite animal, and since I’ve only been attacked by a tiger once, and that one time I had force-field powers to protect me, I’m going to stay loyal to this claim).

Even now, my frantic sprints up the stairs and to my bed after turning off lights are caused by a sense of snarling wolves close behind me. Just last night, I watched a horror movie, and instead of afterward being afraid of whatever was in the movie, I became convinced that if I left the couch, wolves would attack me.

I have a serious problem.

Oh, and to all you who don’t understand why I’m a cat person and not a dog person: This is why I’m a cat person. This is why.

I considered titling this post “why we can’t adopt a child”, but figured that would require too much explaining. Instead, some of you may remember that time my mother decided that a proper pet should serve as interior decoration (The Aesthetics of a Perfect Cat – choosing a pet)*. Well, this is a sort of continuation of that :D

It is true that, in many ways, my mother and I share the same taste (when it comes to Jude Law, for example, or the fact that chocolate cake is not adequate unless it is basically a brownie). However, some fundamental differences have cropped up. These differences include views on curfews, skirt lengths, bright purple nail-polish, tomatoes, or cats, as previously mentioned. But never did I expect for it to go so far as….

CHILDREN

it’s not what it sounds like

i swear, youre getting a totally wrong idea! #diggingmyowngrave

The thing is that my mom and I have had multiple conversations in the past like this:

Penny: That’s a cute one!

Mom: Nah…

Penny: It’s a baby, how can you be so mean?

Mom: It’s just ugly.

innocent child, blissfully unaware of the harsh critique it is receiving

Or this:

Mom: Ok, that one’s cute!

Penny: Hm….I suppose. It’s not quite my style.

Mom: What’s wrong with it?

Penny: It’s too pale. I like the chubby ones with sparkly eyes and everything. My mother did wish for me to specify that this is a sort of parody of reality, and that she does find all babies to be adorable (except for the screaming ones), especially the ones with sparkly eyes and everything. I guess I shouldn’t go around misrepresenting people like this.

ok, so this one might be suspecting something…

Fortunately, my mother and I probably won’t be adopting children together any time soon, so the problem remains irrelevant. Also, we’ve decided that my children will be the cutest anyway, so…I’m just going to be silent now…

Those who know me can probably confirm that I am very….in touch with my emotions. I’ve mentioned before that I am a crier when it comes to movies, or the time I bombarded a guy with insulting memes for asking to be friends with benefits. And usually, this part of my personality gives me what I like to think can be considered a bit of quirkiness.

wait, I thought this was about quirkiness… come on, it’s not all bad… I’ll just stop now.

The danger really only starts when even I can’t decide what to feel. Yes, torn between emotions. Ripped in two. Confused.

This doesn’t happen very often, and yet, recently, I have not been able to escape the spiral of doom that is my feels. Don’t worry, nothing tragic has happened (*paparazzi scurry away disappointedly*). But some of you may remember a post I made a lonnnng time ago (voilà le fabulous post), about how I need to be stressed, or I won’t feel productive.

Ahem.

“I regret nothing.” ~ defiant bird

It has happened.

I took on a ton of projects, procrastinated on all of them, and am now in hyper-adrenaline mode, on a permanent caffeine-induced high, pulling all-nighters left and right,

AND IT IS AWESOME.

i can see sounds

Basically, I have next to zero time to do anything but work, so I constantly feel like the most productive, achieving Penny I could possibly be, and I end up getting eight hours of work done without even noticing how the time has flown. Oh the joy, the ecstasy, the loveliness of life! The happiness is endlesssssssssssss.

However, this all comes with a down-side.

The lows.

I’m talking about in-between-Starbucks phases when the weight of my responsibilities suddenly slaps me in the face and I end up having hysterical fits of crying on the carpet in my room or taking desperate five-second naps in the bathroom.

It’s that bad.

Of course, sometimes I just zone out and realize after ten minutes that the wall isn’t my top priority at the moment. But you get the picture. I’m sure I’ll survive.

Do you think there’s such thing as acute bipolarity? Let me know in the comment section…

When something like this happens, I often get the feeling that it is indecent to even speak of it, to even assume that we could possibly understand anything so horrible, when we haven’t experienced it first-hand. Or to talk on behalf of the people who have. But it is a necessity, so I’m going to share my thoughts here, and maybe you can relate to what I have to say.

I am not very involved in politics, I don’t always keep up with world happenings. It all just seems so irrelevant to my personal life that sometimes I just can’t be bothered. I think this is very common for young people in particular. And so yesterday evening, when my class’ group chat started exploding with shock and outrage at what was happening in Paris, I didn’t even read it until this morning.

When I realized what had happened, I was beyond ashamed. I am ashamed that I could ever feel exempt from the responsibility each person has of being involved in our global community. Such apathy is entirely arrogant.

Paris is next-doorto Switzerland. My class went there on a trip last year. It could have been us. It could have been our friends or family, and for all these people, it was them and their friends, their family.

this is my best friend and me on the eiffel tower. it only took us three hours on the train to get to paris.

I watched some video footage of people running out of Bataclan, screaming, wounded, falling, dead. A man yelling out repeatedly, “Oscar!” Limping.

Who is Oscar? Is Oscar okay?

There were people hanging onto window sills for dear life. You could hear gunfire. Shouts for help.

I have never seen anything so horrifying. This wasn’t a movie, a reenacted documentary. This was real. I cried for nearly fifteen minutes. At the same time, I knew that my mom and my brother were inside the house, safe. I was texting my friends about this, so they were safe. Obviously, they were all safe. They weren’t in Paris, they weren’t even in France. But the fear was there nonetheless.

“It is a horror.”

And then I watched François Hollande’s speech, speaking of France’s strength, the injustice, how they would overcome this evil, that they would go against ISIS ruthlessly. And my sense of fear and terror turned into rage.

Those cannot be humans behind those masks! Those are monsters! This is pure evil.

I want to be able to help, but the most I can do is like and share facebook posts, change my profile picture to the French flag, and be sad and angry. Believe me, I’m happy to do that. It’s important to show support, for every person to be there for the victims of these attacks, but we should strive for more.

I started this post by mentioning indecency vs necessity, and I want to come back to that now: I have often considered the idea of becoming a journalist, and frequently, the financial prospects (and yes, the “irrelevance” – the irony of this is not lost on me) put me off it. But the helplessness I felt today made me realize that I owe it to myself and to society to be one of the people who ties us together by ensuring that people are informed, that people understand the very real happenings around them, so that we don’t lead disconnected, oblivious lives.

This isn’t meant to be a life-changing post or some sort of instruction, but it’s the impression this event has made on me, and I wanted to share it with you.

Lastly, I want to say that I am so grateful for all of my friends and family, and my heart goes out to all those who have suffered through these attacks.

Sincerely,

Penny

Links to the main articles I read, not including the more recent updates (one is in French, but the footage is comprehensible all the same):